by Liz Isaacson
“Just fine.” She glanced around the room, the others gathering plates from the table and forming a line to move down the bar and collect all the Thanksgiving wares.
“It’s good to see you,” he said, and while Shay knew he didn’t mean to imply that she was a bad daughter for not stopping by more often, that was still how she felt.
“What are you doing to stay busy?” she asked her father. She paid all his bills and had taken away all his credit and debit cards. She’d sold everything she could in an attempt to pay off his debt, and with the sale of the ranch, he’d come out clean and higher than he’d been. So she gave him a monthly allowance for groceries, in cash, and she paid everything else.
“Playing chess,” he said. “The community center hosts it every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday.”
Shay looked at him in surprise. “That’s great, Daddy.”
“The ranch looks good.” His tone carried a note of casualness that Shay knew was false. Her father had loved this ranch. When she’d come home to find it broken down, bankrupt, and her father a shell of who she’d left a decade earlier, the only option had been to sell the place.
He’d fought her every step of the way, until finally his best friend and fellow rancher, Chase Carver, had come out and given him the same assessment she had. Her dad blamed her for the loss of Triple Towers; she blamed him.
In general, he was a big reason she went to anger management classes every Thursday.
“You look good, Shay.” He peered at her, the age that sometimes clouded his eyes clearing. “Things must be going well here.”
Shay allowed herself a glance in Austin’s direction. He was moving through the line behind his mother, chatting with her in an easy, casual way. “Yeah,” she said. “Things are going well here.”
An hour later, fully satiated with turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, and cranberry sauce—and rolls and jam. Oh, the rolls and peach jam!—Shay leaned away from the table as the conversation continued around her.
She felt sleepy, but she didn’t want to leave this comfortable place. Austin sat four spots away from her, easy to look at, and her gaze had drifted in his direction several times during the meal.
Someone mentioned Christmas, and what the brothers would be doing, and her father said, “This ranch used to be the place to be in December.”
The conversations hushed, and Shane said, “What do you mean?”
“We used to put up hundreds, no, thousands, of lights,” he said. “On all the towers. Santa on the roof. Everything you can think of. People would come out and drive through.” He smiled as he obviously relived the happier memories in his own mind.
“Right, Shay?” He looked at her. “Dwayne?”
“I do remember that,” Dwayne said. “We could see the lights all the way down at our homestead.” He flashed a friendly grin. “Why’d you stop doing it?”
Shay pulled in a breath and watched her father. What would he say? Should she jump in?
“Oh, you know.” He chuckled, but Shay heard all the unspoken reasons. “Life got busy.”
No, her mother had died. Shay pressed her lips together, only releasing them when Austin caught her eye and lifted his brows.
“What did you do with all the lights?” Shane asked. “I don’t think we saw anything like that lying around.” He looked at Dylan, who shook his head. Austin likewise shrugged his shoulders.
But Shay knew where it all was. After all, she was the one tasked with cleaning up a decade of her father’s mess. She was the one who’d taken charge, made the decisions her dad seemed incapable of making, and had decided what to keep and what to throw away.
The lights, the decorations, the huge star they put on the tall water tower every year? Her mother had adored them. Shay had loved them. And she simply hadn’t been able to throw the decorations away, though they were in dire need of cleaning and repair. Some should probably be replaced, and a twinge of hope that the ranch could be as glorious this Christmas as it once had been was too much to keep her silent.
“I know where they are,” she said.
Every eye at the table swung toward her, and Shay hated carrying the weight of all of them. Sure, she was used to people staring at her. It seemed that a female Army mechanic was curious to some people, as was a five-foot-ten-inch woman who chose to wear four-inch heels.
“You do?” her father asked.
“I kept them,” she said. “They’re in the storage shed out by the silos.”
Shane looked like he was thinking really hard, the lines around his eyes creasing. Dylan didn’t seem to care at all, but Austin was watching her with a glint in those gorgeous eyes that spelled trouble for Shay.
And not the kind she’d gotten into with the ranch hands growing up. Not sneaking out to go horseback riding by moonlight. But the kind that would break her heart.
And when he said, “I’d like to see them,” she knew they’d be spending a lot more time together, whether she liked it or not.
Chapter Five
Austin stood outside the small storage shed between the four silos. The morning air was crisp, almost stinging his lungs—at least for Texas. He’d seen this building before and just assumed it held the mechanics for the silos. But standing in front of it now, he could see it stretched back farther than he’d thought and could certainly house a ranch’s worth of Christmas decorations.
After the conversation had moved to other things on Thanksgiving, and pie had been served, and some people had taken their coffee into the living room, Austin had found Jack Hatch and asked him to see pictures of the ranch when it was decorated for Christmas.
The thrill of it still shone in his mind’s eye, and Austin really wanted to bring that magic back to Triple Towers this year. He could feed the chickens and keep up with the machinery and put up a few lights.
He tried the knob of the door of the shed, but it didn’t budge. So Shay had the key. She hadn’t looked super thrilled yesterday afternoon when he’d said he wanted to see the lights, but she couldn’t keep him out of this shed.
He owned it now. He could change the locks without telling her if he wanted to. But he didn’t want to. Just like he had this insatiable need to take her to dinner, he craved making this ranch as wonderful and as happy as it had once been for her.
As his hometown ranch had been for him. He had to create a place like that. For himself. For his future family. For Shay.
Why, he wasn’t sure. It was simply something that drove him.
His phone rang, and he swiped it on without checking who the caller was. A mistake he couldn’t take back when he heard his father’s voice.
“Austin,” he boomed as if they were old pals.
Austin turned away from the locked storage shed full of possibilities. “Dad.”
“I never heard from you about Thanksgiving. I’m assuming you spent it with your mother on the ranch.”
He pushed out a sigh, hoping the frustration would carry through the line. “You know we did, Dad. I communicated the plan to you.” And he didn’t appreciate his father trying to change it last-minute. But he didn’t say that. He never did.
“Well, Joanna and I would like to host Christmas at our place.”
“Shane and Dylan won’t come,” Austin said automatically. He didn’t want to go either. “We’ve already got plans for the ranch.” He turned back to the shed, his mind sifting through what could be inside. Stars. Candy canes. Reindeer.
“You boys are always welcome here,” his dad said. “Always. I’ve never said you couldn’t come.”
Not in words. It had taken Austin years to understand that actions spoke louder than words.
“Will you mention it to Shane and Dylan, at least?” His father had always put Austin up to tasks like these. Austin had spent the better part of a decade conflicted, torn between his brothers who had taken care of him, and his loyalty to his father.
Today, he was tired of the game. Tired of being played. His anger started as an ember deep
in his gut, but it accelerated quickly. “No, Dad,” he said, deciding to use the tactic that therapist had taught at the anger management class. Face the conflict head-on.
“No?” His dad seemed genuinely confused.
“No, Dad,” Austin repeated. “I’m not going to talk to Shane or Dylan about coming for Christmas. It’s our first season on the ranch, and we want to establish our own traditions.”
The silence on the other end of the line unsettled Austin. “Hey,” he said. “I have to go. I’ll talk to you later.” He hung up before his dad could find another way to manipulate him. Before the anger could escalate into fury. Before he got sucked into his father’s games again.
He tried the doorknob one more time. Still locked. Annoyance sang through him as he turned away. He needed a key. So he’d go get a key.
Shay wasn’t home, or at least she wasn’t answering the door when he pounded on it.
Reminding himself that he didn’t need to go breaking down her door, he stepped back, his breath coming faster than he would’ve liked.
His frustration almost felt like a being all its own, and he hated the darkness it filled him with. He hurried down Shay’s steps and back to the dirt lane running in front of the cabins. He walked away from the crossroads, passing all the other cabins, then Dylan’s house, and on down the road until it ended at a T-junction, one road leading north and one south along the edge of a hay field.
He could literally wander this ranch for days and not touch the same spot of ground twice. He loved Texas, the wild land, the ability to raise cattle, and ride horses, and listen to the wind tell secrets to the trees.
He breathed, finding a way through his anger until he could calm himself down. Thinking more rationally, he pulled out his phone and sent a text to Shay. Would you mind if I looked through the Christmas décor?
She didn’t answer right away, and he wondered where she was. Her truck hadn’t been in front of her cabin, which probably should’ve been his first clue that she wouldn’t answer the door.
He’d settled enough and had started back toward the epicenter of the ranch when his phone chimed.
I ran into town to see a friend this morning, Shay had said. I’ll be back this afternoon and we can go through the shed together, if that’s okay.
Of course it was okay. Austin didn’t want to say exactly that though, in case he came across as too eager.
“Can’t come across any stronger,” he muttered to himself. He’d held her hand in the equipment shed. Asked her out—again. Told her right to her face—with his perfectly serious—that he wanted dinner alone with her.
He wasn’t blind. He’d seen the spark of interest in her eyes the first time they’d met. She’d let him hold her hand, and her fingers had curled around his too. Yes, Shay liked him just fine, no matter how much she’d bossed him or argued with him.
There was something making her pull back, shut down, close off from him. And the further she retreated, the more he wanted to chase her down and make her talk to him.
Just text me when you get back, he typed out and sent. Then he headed over to the chicken coops, hoping time with the cluckers would relax him.
Shay met him at the storage shed, and Austin couldn’t help the way his smile spread across his face. Her glasses were gone, and her long, thick hair had been pulled up high on her head again. She wore a dark wash pair of jeans with a sweatshirt that had a silhouette of a German shepherd on it, and her two dogs trotted at her side.
“Hey, girls.” Austin crouched down and extended his hand to the dogs.
“Sit,” Shay commanded, and both dogs complied instantly. They were beautiful animals, clearly loyal to Shay, with their long tongues hanging out of their mouths. They both looked at Austin for a few seconds, then the bigger one looked back at Shay, as if asking her permission.
“Lizzy, go.”
The big dog came forward, her nose sniff, sniff, sniffing, and Austin chuckled as he scrubbed her behind the ears.
“Molly,” Shay said in a warning tone. Finally, the other German shepherd turned her head and looked at Shay.
“Go.”
Molly jetted forward too, practically knocking Lizzy out of the way. “Are they sisters?” he asked.
“Yes,” Shay said. “Molly’s the runt, and Lizzy was the pack leader. She barked a lot when she was a pup, and no one wanted her.”
Austin glanced up, hearing something dangerous behind Shay’s words. “You wanted her.”
“She’s an excellent dog.” Shay loosened up slightly, dropping her arms from how she had them clenched across her middle. “And she doesn’t bark anymore.”
“I’ve never heard her.” Lizzy licked his face, and he laughed and pushed her away.
“They like you.” Shay sounded surprised, and Austin straightened.
“I think they like everyone,” he said, facing the shed.
“Not really.” She stepped over to the door and fitted a key into the lock. She hesitated before twisting it, her eyes reaching up to find his.
“What?” he asked, his voice turning tender though he had no idea how he’d made it do that.
“This is…personal to me,” she said. “I know you own it, and that’s fine and all, but this is—these decorations mean a lot to me.” Shay looked raw, filled with so much emotion, so many memories, so much to her past that Austin really wanted to know.
He cupped her cheek in one palm and said, “All right. Let’s take a look.”
She leaned into his touch, her eyes drifting closed. In that moment, Austin could see how she’d look just before he’d kiss her. Oh, how he wanted to kiss her. And now she’d given him the perfect visual, which would haunt him in the time it took him to fall asleep from now until forever.
Austin leaned toward her, almost mindlessly. Then she opened her eyes, he snapped to attention, and she twisted the key to open the door.
“Some of it might be in disrepair,” she said, pushing the door in and stepping after it.
He followed her into the shed. “Tell me more about the light show.” Austin could feel the dust against his fingertips already, and he hadn’t even touched anything yet.
Shelves lined both walls of the shed, leading all the way to the back, where a set of double doors revealed a cabinet. Shay pulled a string hanging from the ceiling and a bare light bulb blazed to life.
Boxes and bins sat on the shelves, some with labels and some without. Two toolboxes sat on the floor just inside the door, and Austin brushed the tip of his boot against one of them. The bottom points of a gigantic star poked out from the bottom shelf, and he pulled it out.
“Where did this go?”
Shay looked at him, the nostalgia written all over her face. “The water tower. It lights up. My grandfather hung it for years until my dad took over.” She traced her fingertips down the point closest to her.
“So we put lights on everything. The fences, the posts, the stables, the house, all the cabins, every tree trunk and branches. It was beautiful. Magical. In the last few years before I left, my mom programmed the lights to go with music, and people could tune their radios to a specific station and listen along with the lights.”
She sighed, pulling her hand back. Austin slid the star back onto the shelf and reached for a box marked “red and white lights.” He pulled it down while she continued.
“We’d put those around the silos to make candy canes,” she said. “The star on the tallest tower. Icicle lights on all the sheds.” She extracted a trio of circles from a low shelf. “These are snowmen. They have hats somewhere.”
The more she talked and the more Austin looked at, the more he wanted to get this all set up. Pull it all out. Test it all. Fix what had burnt out. And spend the next week or two transforming this ranch into that magical place Shay spoke of.
If not for her, for him. He could really use some magic in his life right now, though if he could get Shay to go out with him, that alone would give him a high that would take a long time to come
down from.
Instead of asking, he started pulling out more bins and boxes and taking them outside. He sorted them into piles of lights—blue, white, red, and multi-colored. She brought out the snowmen, and he counted eight of them. The star got it’s own spot. The icicle lights kept coming and coming, as did the eight not-so-tiny reindeer and the plywood that was in need a fresh coat of red paint in order to be Santa’s sleigh.
He found more shapes like the snowmen, but they weren’t round. Various rectangles in various sizes. “What are these?” he asked, tilting them toward Shay, who was crouched at the back of the shed, looking through something.
She twisted to look over her shoulder. “Soldiers. Toy soldiers.”
“Ah, of course.” He could see the legs, the bodies, the boxy hats now that he knew what he was looking for.
She straightened and held up a series of circles. “And these expand to Christmas trees. We have them in blue, white, red, green, purple, and pink.”
“How many?”
“Probably four dozen. My mother loved them.”
Austin smiled at her. “You loved your mother.”
She flinched the teensiest bit before bending to pick up the box. She passed it to him, holding onto it while he did too. Their eyes met under the glow of that light bulb, and she nodded. “I loved my mother. I miss her so much.” She swallowed once, and then again. “Some days, I’m fine. But this? Going through all of this stuff she loved?” She shook her head and sighed. “I miss her.”
Austin’s heart bled for her. “I’m so sorry, Shay.”
She released the box. “I think we should do it. See what works and get it all up. My mother would’ve loved it, and I think it’s just what this ranch needs right now.”
“Really?” Austin couldn’t help the hope in his voice. He’d been planning to ask her if he could please put up the decorations, and now he didn’t have to.
She smiled and bumped him to get him to go out of the shed. “Really.”
He chuckled and walked backward until he made it into the sunshine, moving past all the other boxes to start a new pile for the four dozen trees they needed to bring out from the shed.
